


Solitude

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [16]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Based on Solitude by Evanescence, requested by Anonymous. Set in that mystery period of time between 2014 and ADWM.





	Solitude

“Who the _hell_ do you think you are?”  


Dark bared his teeth, pressing back into the wall. “I think I’m the only one standing between you and fading, Warfstache, so you’d better–”

“Fading?!” Wilford advanced, hands curled into empty fists by his sides. A hot kind of anger resonated through him with each heartbeat, his shoulders quivering. He laughed, forced, short, harsh. “That’s bullshit, and you _know_  it, Darky boy.”  


“You’d be _dead_ without me,” Dark snapped, feeling his aura begin to extend tendrils towards Wilford, getting between them. He waved it out of the way. “Don’t pretend you don’t _need_  me.”  


Dr. Iplier, behind Wilford, arms crossed over his chest, snorted derisively. “Need you? Sure, Dark,” he said, challenging. “It doesn’t mean that we’d get rid of you if we could.”

Dark was left, for once, at a loss. “You can’t,” he managed, glaring at the Doctor over Wilford’s shoulder. 

Wilford stepped back to exchange a glance with Dr. Iplier. “You’re doing a great job of getting rid of _us_ ,” Dr. Iplier sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. Suddenly, he looked years older. 

Wilford shook his head, shooting daggers at Dark. “Just because you wanted to get back at Mark, you’ve let _every person_ in the neighborhood know we’re here.”

“But it _worked_.” Dark grinned, lips curling up, a dangerous glint to his eyes. Even backed into a corner by Wilford and the Doctor, he was triumphant, unbeatable. “It worked, and you _ungrateful figments_ can–”

“Dark,” Wilford interrupted, sharp. “You can deal with the police in the morning–”  


“I will–” Dark started, a confident smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.  


“–alone,” Wilford finished, finality in his tone.  


Dark stopped, looking between the other two. “What do you–”

“We’re leaving,” said Dr. Iplier, crossing and uncrossing his arms uncomfortably.   


“You can’t leave,” Dark found his voice, snarling; found himself, shaking. “You _need_   _me.”_  


“I think you’ll find that we don’t.”  


Wilford crossed the room to stand next to the Doctor, away from Dark. “We have a place to stay,” he said, a little more uncertain. 

“But–”  


“We don’t want to live with you,” Dr. Iplier managed to sneer. “Can I make it any clearer?”  


“You can’t leave.” It was meant to be a growl, a threat, but it came out of Dark’s throat as a whimper, a plea. His aura was ringing in his ears. _Please.You can’t._  


“I’ll leave you a contact number.”  


* * *

The tiny apartment was too big, too empty, and Dark couldn’t stand it. 

His aura loved it, of course. She whistled around the walls, blacking out the light filtering through the blinds, surrounding him in darkness.

As far as she was concerned, he was the only person in the world. 

The first day wasn’t so bad: Dark had been relieved, happy, even, to have the house to himself. It was quiet, peaceful, and he could watch TV without worrying about Wilford putting a bullet through the screen.

He went to make dinner, and it was only when he saw the Doctor’s coffee growing cold in the sink that it hit him. 

They were gone. Gone, without even the courtesy of being dead. No, they’d _chosen_  to leave him. How could he blame them?

_Everyone leaves me stranded…_

The second day was the hardest. Dark woke up on the couch, his dinner from the night cold in front of him. No blanket tucked around him, the TV still chattering, crumbs still on the floor. 

There was no one around, no reason to change clothes, no reason to even get up from the couch. He lay there until the sun began to go down again, until his stomach twisted in rebellion. Even then, it was only to gather a blanket and stare blankly into the TV, food reheated, but uneaten. 

_Forgotten, abandoned, left behind…_

His aura was having the best time of it, he thought. The apartment was constantly filled with the smoke, and Dark could fool himself into thinking that he was in the void instead of his own room. Sometimes it helped. 

Other times. Other times, the oppressive shadows made it hard to breathe, holding him down when he’d rather just float away. 

She’s there for him when he slings knife after knife into the door Wilford and the Doctor walked out of, and she’s there when he’s trying to scrub the bloodstains out of his shirts, on his knees before the washing machine. 

She’s there when he’s holding on, and she’s there when he gives up.

Dark packs a bag, waving smoke out of his way, even as it piles up behind him. He makes his way through the apartment one last time, refusing to even turn around when his aura shrieks through his ears, pulling at his coat. He doesn’t bother to lock the door behind him. 

His aura follows him out, silent, satisfied at last. 

_I can’t stay here another night._


End file.
